


and yet i feel lucky to hear all your lines

by prancelance



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutual dumbassery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Yearning, absolutely no one, also argo is shorter than fitz bc i fucking said so, and also it's important to the plot, god so much fucking yearning, no one is straight, one-sided rivalry for a total of Two Hours and then fitzroy realizes he was being stupid, or at least it will be if i can restrain myself, they WILL be dancing together at least once per chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24436567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prancelance/pseuds/prancelance
Summary: Fitzroy had his doubts about enrolling in this class. During registration, he looked at his schedule, which was stacked with various core classes and the like, and realized that quite literally none of them interested him. So when he overheard the group of people at the table next to him talking about an elective, Beginning Social Dance, how it was supposedly the most fun physical education class the university offered (and, consequently, the hardest to get into), he thought it couldn’t hurt to enroll.But now he was physically in pain.Or Argo and Fitzroy are both enrolled in the same dancing class at their university. Fitzroy is definitely less than perfect at it. Argo is decidedly better and offers his help.
Relationships: Argo Keene/Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt
Comments: 28
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so um.  
> i'm a sophomore in college and I have not written a fanfiction since I was in middle school.  
> so here we are.  
> this is an Attempt.
> 
> this whole thing was inspired by the social dance class that I took at my university before we had to leave due to covid. i miss it so much bc it was a fucking rad class so I'm going to try to relive it vicariously through the good good boys.
> 
> also the title is from Boys Like You by dodie!

Fitzroy had his doubts about enrolling in this class. During registration, he looked at his schedule, which was stacked with various core classes and the like, and realized that quite literally none of them interested him. So when he overheard the group of people at the table next to him talking about an elective, Beginning Social Dance, how it was supposedly the most fun physical education class the university offered (and, consequently, the hardest to get into), he thought it couldn’t hurt to enroll.

But now he was physically in pain.

Okay, so maybe he’s being a tad dramatic. Standing in a circle, next to a complete stranger who is holding his hand might not be physically painful, but by God, it sure is excruciatingly frustrating.

“An important thing to remember as you and your partner begin to move forward around the circle is to try to stay on the balls of your feet. This way you can execute the turns smoothly,” the voice of one of the instructors booms over the speakers as he and the other instructor demonstrate in the center of the room. 

The classroom is giant, slightly larger than a basketball court, but still filled with students. Apparently the people Fitzroy had eavesdropped on were correct; this class was extremely popular. About two hundred people were currently standing in a circle, paired up and facing counter-clockwise, attempting to learn the very first dance of the semester. 

The instructors claimed that this dance was just an easy, fun dance to get them ready for the semester and acquainted with their classmates, that they didn’t yet need to separate into groups of leads and follows. 

“The dance is called ‘t smidje,” the smaller instructor had explained, “a Belgian mixer. It’s super simple, so you’ll pick it up in no time!”

Fitzroy is very skeptical about that fact at the moment, given that they’ve been working on it for ten minutes and he’s still wobbly on his feet and can’t seem to remember the steps. Was it “one, two, three, turn on four” or “one, two, three, four, turn on five?” Did he need to jump towards his partner first, or away? Every time the instructor says “high-five your partner and rotate!” he finds himself apologizing to his partners ahead of time. They all seem understanding at first but by the time they say to rotate again, Fitzroy can tell that they’re ready to be rid of him

So yeah. It might not be physically painful, but it sure as hell isn’t doing wonders for his self-esteem. 

“Alright!” The larger instructor exclaims through the microphone. “The last move in this dance is sending your partner onto the next person.” He grasps the hand of the other instructor, who stands on his right side. “After you and your partner have jumped and sent the outside person across,” they demonstrate by jumping in towards each other, then back out. The smaller instructor spins in front of his partner, ending up on his other side, grasping his other hand. He continues “you jump twice again,” (they jump again, towards each other and away) “and then your partner turns in front of you again.”

The smaller instructor turns back in front of the larger, seemingly about to return to his right side. However, he stops short, making sure that this action is obvious for the students. He says, “instead of taking your partner’s hand again, you want to move forward so that you can take the hand of the person in front of you. People that are standing on the inside of the circle, you don’t have to do anything; just hold out your right hand for whoever is behind you to take before you start the cycle again.”

Fitzroy shoots a silent prayer up to whatever omnipotent being orchestrated this whole event for ensuring that he was in the inner circle. In this position, all he had to do was walk, jump, and be ready for a new partner. Surely he could handle that. 

“Take your partner’s hand,” Fitzroy takes the hand of the girl next to him, “and try it for yourselves!” This time, he remembers to jump towards her first, and to his surprise, they execute the move without a hitch; the girl is safe with the person in front of him and Fitzroy himself now has a new partner holding his hand. At the instructors’ prompting, the class does the turn a few more times, and each time he manages to pull it off with no noticeable mistakes. He’s even more surprised to feel his confidence mounting every time he does it.

Of course, that means that he was far overdue to mess up.

From the speakers, the smaller instructor’s voice says, “now let’s put it all together!”

“Wait,” Fitzroy says, whipping his head around frantically as the beginning of the song fills the room. Everyone else in the studio had taken their partners’ hands, and though a few look a tad uneasy, he has the feeling that he’s the most nervous of all of them. He turns his gaze to his partner, a person who looks like they are confident about their abilities. They give Fitzroy a smile and hold out their hand and he takes it, hoping their confidence would rub off, at least on the outside.

Fitzroy knows that he’s an anxious person, he’s not fooling himself in that regard. However, after years of being nervous in most, if not all, situations, he has developed a particular talent for hiding it. So even though on the inside he longs to fall to the floor, curl in on himself, log into the university website so that he might drop the class immediately, he mirrors his partner. He returns their smile and turns his attention forward. 

Over the music, the instructor’s voice counts, “five, six, seven, eight!”

And they’re off.

Fitzroy walks to the beat of the music, _one, two three_ \-- and he stumbles a bit, forgetting yet again what beat is the best for turning. He grimaces, but saves face and continues. _Five, six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four,_ he falters again on the turn, but he keeps going for the rest of the count. Then they jump, and by some miracle of divine intervention, he remembers to jump towards his partner first. They perform both jump-turn sequences and suddenly, Fitzroy’s new partner is here. This cycle, and then next, is achieved with minor blunders on the turns, but, on the whole, is a major improvement on his part. 

He almost thinks that he’ll have it mastered by the end of the song. 

_(But where would be the fun in that?)_

He sends his third partner, a really nice girl he remembers from last semester in his history class, forward to the person in front of him. He feels the warm grip on his right hand as his new partner moves next to him, and he must be getting worn out from the effort of the dance because he swears his hand begins to tingle under his grasp. He keeps his eyes on his previous partner for half of a second to make sure she follows through safely (for all his flaws, Fitzroy considers himself to be quite chivalric) before he turns his gaze to give the customary greeting smile to his partner. 

And then Fitzroy’s heart stops.

Standing next to him, holding his hand, is quite literally one of the most attractive people he’s ever seen. He has long, deep black hair, so black it’s almost blue, tied into a haphazard ponytail that would look disheveled on anyone else, but on him, it looks almost like dark water tumbling and cascading as he moves. He has a handlebar mustache that would normally make Fitzroy laugh if he wasn’t so mesmerized, and his skin is dark brown and littered with freckles. Fitzroy is about a head taller than him, but his presence and the energy that rolls off of him take up more than enough space to make up for it. And Fitzroy is stopped in his tracks.

He doesn’t realize what a problem this is until he remembers that the music is still going, and so is his partner. 

He swears and moves quickly to catch up to him, at which his partner snickers. Fitzroy feels his face grow hot with embarrassment as he realizes his mistake, a feeling that is only amplified as he stumbles harder than before on his turn. His partner gives up on trying to hide his laughter, and it’s deep and full and almost makes Fitzroy forget his embarrassment. That is until he stumbles yet again on the second turn (It should be well-established by now that Fitzroy is, for lack of a better term, a mess). 

Fitzroy knows that he must be terribly red by now, but as they begin to jump, he hazards a glance at his partner, and he has a wide smile on his face, like his cheeks might break open, and his stomach explodes into a storm of butterflies as thinks to himself, _How can one person hold so much joy inside of him?_

In that instant, they lock eyes, and Fitzroy turns him and grasps his other hand, and as they jump towards each other again, his partner says, ”we’ll work on that!” When he goes into the last turn, he winks and moves on to the next partner. At that, any fluttering Fitzroy’s stomach is instantly gone. Instead, it’s replaced with anger.

In addition to being a generally anxious person, Fitzroy has a lot of anger. That anger lives fairly close to the surface, so it needs very little coaxing to come out, and it makes what most would see as good-natured ribbing between peers, perhaps even flirtation, appear to him as a direct insult. Above all, it ruins any semblance of an easy, straightforward plot. No, instead, any admiration he held for his beautiful partner burned to ash where it lay. It didn’t help that his residual embarrassment was gas beneath the flame, keeping it running for as long as it needs to make the next few days thoroughly interesting.

As the class continues on, his anger stays at a simmer, not quite reaching a boil but certainly not cooling down any further. The instructors call for a five-minute half-time break, followed by a discussion about the syllabus. Fitzroy looks over the paper for any pertinent information on assignments, but according to this, there are only three assignments outside of class. For one, he has to submit five songs that could be used as music for the dances they learn in class. For the second, he has to attend a dance outing. And for the last, the “final exam,” he has to attend the Spring soirée the last week of class. He breathes a sigh of relief; that’s one less class’ worth of assignments he has to worry about. 

The instructors dismiss the class early following the discussion wrap-up, letting the students know that they’ll be playing music for ten minutes after class should anyone want to practice. “And if anyone wants to get more practice,” the smaller instructor yells to the students, most of whom are already out the door, “we’ll be playing music for ten minutes prior to every class as well!”

Fitzroy rises from his spot on the floor and trudges over to where he left his bag and shoes. He has his left shoe on and is about to tug on the right when he hears a voice call out from behind him.

“Hey, Fitz!” And it’s almost enough to make his blood boil. Fitzroy whips around and sees his ~~beautiful~~ insufferable former partner making his way towards him.

“It is Fitzroy.” He seethes, pulling on his right shoe and straightening to glare at the man approaching him. “And how on Earth do you know my name?”

At that, his partner looks amused and gestures to Fitzroy’s chest where a red sticker displays “ **HELLO. MY NAME IS: Fitzroy** ” loudly to the world. 

“Oh. Well, in any case,” he takes a second to glance at the blue sticker he neglected to notice on his partner’s chest before and finds the information he needs. “Argonaut, what is it that you require from me.”

And there it was, to top it all off. The haughty tone, the verbosity, all techniques Fitzroy has learned to employ whenever he wants to distance himself from his peers. However, if this ‘Argonaut’ is bothered by his new tone, he doesn’t show it.

“Argo is fine,” he says, and that cheek-splitting grin is back in full force. “And I was wondering if you wanted to practice a bit? You seemed to be having trouble with the turns, so-”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Fitzroy spits sharply, “but that will not be necessary.” And with that, he throws his long coat over his shoulder (again, a tad dramatic) and walks away from Argo, who is left standing in the classroom, confused.

\--- 

“You’re late,” Fitzroy says to Rainer without looking up from his laptop. The two of them had agreed to meet in the dining hall to catch each other up on their respective days.

“It’s not my fault this campus is the most fucking inaccessible place on Earth,” she sighs, maneuvering herself into the space Fitzroy saved for her across from him. “How was your day? Didn’t you have that social dance class you nearly had a conniption over?”

“Funny you should ask!” He exclaims, looking up at her with a faux cheerful look on his face. “I’m actually on my registration sheet right now! I’ve decided to drop it.” He punctuates his sentence by lifting up his glass of water in a ‘cheers’ motion and taking a sip.

“What?” Rainer looks at him, disappointed. “We literally had a four-hour conversation about why taking this class would be a _good_ thing, why are you giving up on it now?”

“Because, Rainer, I’m a textbook failure, I cannot execute any of the turns, and,” he meets her eyes and narrows his, “I have a rival.”

Rainer laughs at that. “A rival?” She takes a sip from Fitzroy’s glass, diseases be damned. “How do you already have a rival? That class is less than an hour long.”

Fitzroy huffs, crossing his arms. “Because he insulted me. And although he looks like Adonis, I will not stand for any sort of slander.” Rainer looks at him, amused, and gestures for him to continue. “After I stumbled, he said ‘we’ll work on that’ and winked at me. Then after class, he had the gall to ask if I wanted to practice with him. Can you believe?”

And from the look on her face, it was clear that Rainer could not believe. “Fitzroy,” she says tiredly, “did it occur to you that maybe--just maybe-- he was messing with you? And trying to be your friend?”

“No, it did not occur to me because there is no way that was the situation.” A beat. His shoulders slump. “Or perhaps there was a chance that was the situation.” He puts his face in his hands and leans his elbows onto the table. “Oh, Rainer, I’m so effing stupid.”

Rainer lets a laugh ring loud and clear, and Fitzroy’s spirits are lifted half an inch. “Fitz, we’ve got to work on your swearing. And yes. You’re fucking stupid. Now let’s expand on that and talk about how you can fix this because you sure as hell are not dropping that class.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope i did an okay job of describing the dance asdkljfsdkf
> 
> if it helps to visualize, here's a [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-UQUwO9UrE) that shows what I was going for. except like. a lot more people and a LOT more high energy
> 
> like I said at the beginning, I haven't written any fanfiction since middle school. honestly the only stuff I've written since then have been essays, save for a few creative pieces. but even then none of those pieces were in this genre so uhhhhhh if you have any constructive criticism I am very VERy much open to that.
> 
> also, I'm a [fitzkeene](https://fitzkeene.tumblr.com/) on tumblr (still not quite sure how I was able to snag that URL but damn I'm not complaining) if you want to message me there!
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! i hope to have the next chapter up soon :)


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's day two of class. Fitzroy apologizes to Argo. Dancing ensues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i vigorously listened to boys like you by dodie and strawberry blond by mitski for three hours in preparation for this so you know that i'm ready for this TENSION and YEARNING.
> 
> i also somehow made this EXACTLY 3k words?
> 
> Also, the dance they'll be doing in this chapter is the same as the last, so if you want to get a decent idea of what 't smidje looks like, here's a video!

Argo had grown used to getting up with the sun. For years, an early start was the only option for him and the rest of the people on his mom’s research vessel; there was no escaping the sunlight that blared through every window, filling the horizon with blinding light as it shone on the surface of the water. In fact, if he thinks about it, he can’t remember one time he ever got to sleep in growing up.

So this is _definitely_ a nice change. 

Don’t get him wrong, he desperately misses life on the sea; to him, nothing could match the beauty of the water stretching out under the ever-expanding sky. However, sleeping in until ten is also pretty damn beautiful.

Before he can give in to the urge to cocoon himself in his blankets and sleep for another hour, Argo forces himself to get up and stretch his limbs out like the rays of sun peeking through his curtains. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pulls the curtains open just enough to fill his bedroom with light then steps back onto his perpetually rolled-out yoga mat, his legs shoulder-width apart. As he begins to flow through some of his poses, he hears his mother’s voice in his head. “It is just as important to have a healthy mind as it is to try to have a healthy body, little Argonaut,” she would say. She was the only one who ever called him by his full name, the only one he’d ever let call him that. “Maybe even more important.”

He must have been around ten or eleven the first time she told him this. Shebrie Keene did yoga on the deck of her research vessel, the _Mariah_ , just after sunrise every morning. His whole life, Argo had just assumed that it was to keep her strong and nimble. She was able to do complex poses, the likes of which he had never seen before, like firefly and king pigeon poses. He asked her if he could start doing it with her so that he could be strong like the men he saw in the superhero movies she let him see whenever they took to port. 

At that, she crouched down to eye level with him, grasping his face in her hands and looking into his eyes. That’s what Argo remembers most vividly about that moment: those gray eyes with the color and fierceness of a storm.

“Now you listen to me, Argonaut. It might be nice to be physically strong. Some people might think you that much better because of it, but that isn’t at all what’s important. You need to have strength of mind, little one, because your body can fail you and wither away, but your mind is your greatest asset. It helps you to see the world and connect with others, and it needs just as much tender love and care as any other organ.” She ruffled his hair, returning to her full height and standing in mountain pose. Argo watched her, mirroring her movements. “I don’t do yoga to build up muscle, my love. I do it to give my mind the love it deserves.”

This is the memory that plays over in his mind as he flows from pose to pose, and as he lies on his back in Shavasana, he tries to sustain this image of her for as long as possible. But then he opens his eyes and she is still gone. He sits up, running his hands through his hair before resting them on his neck.

This is why he does yoga every day. To give his mind the love it deserves, to make it strong and healthy.

It’s getting harder and harder to keep it that way.

\---

Almost two hours later, he’s toeing off his shoes next to the rest of his stuff on the edge of the classroom. He’s ten minutes early, and the instructors just started to play the song that accompanies the dance they learned last class. He recognizes the language as Dutch, and even though he can’t understand a word, something about it makes him excited to get moving. His eyes dart around the class to find someone to practice with, but everyone here seems to have paired off already.

Argo is just about to look for one of the class assistants when a voice behind him pipes up, hesitant. “Um, excuse me? Argo?” He turns and standing there, obviously nervous but trying his best to be composed, is Fitzroy.

A few days ago when Argo first saw him, his first thought was _hot damn._ When Fitzroy first turned to look at him, there was a split second where his eyes widened and he almost looked surprised. Argo noted the composed air with which he tried to hold himself, juxtaposed with the line between his brows, so small that it was barely noticeable, but all the while giving away whatever anxieties plagued him. Argo also couldn’t help but notice his hair, carefully coiffed to frame his face just so, the stylish clothes that looked like they were made for him. He especially reveled in the way he was all embarrassment and stuttering, his face flushing redder and more adorable by the second. 

But that was then, before Argo tried to establish a connection with the other man, before he was turned away with an attitude that was beyond rude.

“Oh, hello Fitzroy,” he says, carefully measuring out his words to not let his frustration and, frankly, hurt show. “What is it that you want from me, hm?”

Fitzroy’s eyes are currently preoccupied with being anywhere but on Argo’s face. and his ears start to turn red at the tips, but he clears his throat and continues to talk. “I- um, I believe I owe you an apology, Argo. After thinking about how I treated you despite your kind offer after class on Tuesday, I realized that I acted in a rash manner. As a result, I’m afraid that I might have, perhaps, offended you slightly.” Argo can tell that this apology was rehearsed, and part of him is slightly amused at the sight. 

“I’d say so! You were certainly less than friendly to someone who had shown you no amount of ill will,” he crosses his arms and leans against the wall behind him.

Fitzroy winces slightly at that. “Yes. What I’m trying to say is,“ and for the first time in this encounter, he locks his eyes with Argo, “I’m sorry for how I reacted. And if the offer is still on the table, I would love to practice with you. I could sure use the help.” And he offers up the smallest smile.

Argo doesn’t have to accept his apology. He can choose to scoff and walk away, hope he never has to dance with this pretentious bastard again. In fact, he probably should! It would serve him well to not go about accepting every half-assed apology that comes his way.

But he can tell that this isn’t half-assed. Fitzroy is tense, anticipating his response, and that line between his brows is even more prominent than before. He looks into his eyes (because his ma always said that one can learn a lot from a person’s eyes), and although they’re hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses, they’re wide and pleading, and the resistance Argo had felt is almost completely gone. Then, he notes their color. Fitzroy’s eyes are decidedly hazel, a swirl of golden brown in the center near the pupils, but a ring of deep gray encircles the outer edge of the iris. Storm-gray.

He sighs, pushing himself off the wall. “Fine.”

Fitzroy’s eyebrows shoot up, and the tension in his shoulders washes away as he seems to perk up almost instantly. “Really?”

Agro chuckles a little at this sudden change. “Yeah, I figure if you’re willing to go through with this apology even though you’re obviously uncomfortable, that’s gotta be worth something.

“I am not uncomfortable,” he huffs, straightening his posture to appear taller, “I am simply tense because the beds in the dormitories are so terribly uncomfortable that I wasn’t able to get a good night’s rest.”

“Ooooh, sure,” Argo smirks, poking Fitzroy in the shoulder playfully, to which the taller man yelps slightly, glaring back at him. He tries to contain his laughter as he realizes it would be in his best interest to hold the teasing back a little for now. “Since we got off on the wrong foot, let’s reintroduce ourselves,” he sticks out a hand. “Argonaut Keene.”

Fitzroy softly takes his hand, gently shaking it, and Argo shoves the fluttering that starts to tickle his stomach down as far as humanly possible. “Fitzroy Maplecourt.”

“Right, Fitzroy Applesauce.” 

What? He said he’d hold back _a little_. He’s only human.

Fitzroy rolls his eyes, but Argo can tell that there’s no weight behind it. “Okay, _Argonaut Keene_. Are you going to show me how to do this or not?”

\---

Fitzroy likes to think of himself as a graceful person. Many a time has he worn shoes of ridiculous heights without so much as stumbling or maneuvered his way between people in large crowds when he needed to get somewhere quickly (really, there should be a separate lane for gay people). But right now, looking at Argonaut Keene dancing in his socks to a Dutch song (but the dance itself was Belgian? Fitzroy was still confused about all that), he realizes that he isn’t even on the cusp of grace compared to him. He manages to make it look like the easiest thing in the world, like he’s been doing stuff like this since his first steps.

“You see how I keep my center of gravity on the balls of my feet?” he looks to Fitzroy, and it takes him a second to process the question because he’s so thoroughly lost in thought, but he nods in confirmation. “This makes it a lot easier to pivot and execute turns.” He walks to stand next to Fitzroy and takes his hand. “Let’s run through it once like that.”

  
They do so, and although he still messes up the timing, the actual turn itself is a lot better, less jerky and hesitant.

“Good!” Argo exclaims, and Fitzroy feels a bit of pride bloom in his chest. “But you still seem to have trouble with the timing.” And with that, the pride is squashed. Instead, it is replaced by the welling up of something heavier.

_he thinks you’re an idiot, you can’t even do one lousy turn right, you should’ve just dropped this class when you had the chance, you’ll never get it right, you should just stop coming to class, you’ll only fail anyw--_

There’s a squeeze in his hand, and Fitzroy realizes that Argo is still holding on, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s alright though, boyo. That’s why we’re working on it. Most people don’t get this right on their first try.” 

Fitzroy returns his smile in kind. “Thank you, Argo.” 

Argo gives his hand another slight squeeze. “No problem.” He lets go and steps away from Fitzroy a little so he can see all of him. “Now the problem here seems to be that you’re turning _on_ a beat, like this.” And he steps forward, _one, two, three,_ and turns on _four_. 

“Oh, I thought that was the proper way to do it,” Fitzroy frowns, thinking back to the first lesson. 

“That’s actually a really common mistake! But don’t worry, I’m fairly certain that’s the way it is in the next dance we’ll learn. But for this one, you want to turn _between_ the beats.” And he steps forward again, _one, two, three,_ and when his foot connects with the ground on _four,_ he immediately begins to turn. His other foot comes back down on _five,_ and he continues for the rest of the count. “See?” Fitzroy nods, counting out the beats again in his mind. “Alright then, let’s try the whole thing.”

They grasp hands once more and run through an entire cycle of the dance, and to Fitzroy’s surprise, he does the whole thing without a single mistake. When he looks at Argo, he’s beaming. “Good lad! That’s what I’m talking about!” He holds up his hand for a high-five and Fitzroy returns it shyly, but he can already feel that pride begin to swell in his stomach again.

Although this time, it almost feels like fluttering.

They continue to run through a few more cycles with the music, and as they do, they fall into comfortable conversation.

“You’re a Marine Science major? Wait, you know what, I’m actually not surprised.” Argo practically moves like water, and it isn’t difficult to picture him working there hands-on.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Oh, shoot. He definitely couldn’t say _that_ out loud.

“Um,” Fitzroy stammers, grasping for anything that would remotely make sense. “You look like a fish person.” Well, that wasn’t it. Argo laughed as they moved through the sequence again, still flawless as ever. “I- uh, I mean that you look like you would care about fish and marine life and the environment and all that jazz, is all.”

“Okay then, what’s your major?”

“International Relations and Global Studies.” At that, Argo laughs even harder.

“You? Mr. Sass and Attitude? The man who just told me that I ‘look like a fish person’ is an International Relations major?” His laugh is deep, and it rings loud in the large room.

Before Fitzroy can find a clever retort, the larger instructor’s voice starts to sound over the speakers. “Alright, everyone! Find a partner and circle up for ‘t smidje!”

Argo grabs Fitzroy’s hand and they head over to an empty spot in the circle. Even though he’s just done it several times, many of which without much effort, he finds himself still nervous. What if he’s only doing well because he’s dancing with Argo? What if he starts messing up again as soon as he gets a new partner?

“Hey,” Argo says, and Fitzroy looks over at him. They lock eyes and Argo gives him another reassuring smile (apparently, he’s very good at those). “You’re gonna do great. Just relax and have fun with it.”

The music begins, and Argo starts to bounce a little while they wait for their cue. Fitzroy suppresses a giggle, trying to keep his face as straight as possible. Argo sways their connected arms a bit, trying to get Fitzroy in on it, but as soon as the instructor starts the count, he stills and gives his hand another squeeze (he’s good at those, too). And with the instructor’s count, they start.

Although he’s still pretty nervous, he manages the first turn without any problems, then the second. Argo makes eye contact with him as they do the first jump-turn sequence, and as they go into the second, he says, “You’re going to be great!”

Just like a few days ago, Argo winks at him as he goes into the second turn and moves onto the next partner. Fitzroy gives his new partner a quick smile and ‘hello,’ just like they’re supposed to, but his eyes immediately go back in front. He watches as Argo makes easy conversation with the other classmates. As he moves from person to person comfortably and amicably. As he dances effortlessly, beautifully, with passion. Like waves crashing into the shore forcefully but ceding gently back to the bay.

\---

Argo is standing near his stuff, taking some generous swigs from his water bottle. As fun as this class is, he’s coming to realize that it takes a lot of energy to dance intensely for an hour. He looks up in time to see Fitzroy walking back over from where he ended up across the room.

“Hey, Fitz, you did really well! There was so much improvement from last time. How did you like it?”

  
“It’s still Fitzroy,” he says, but with a lot less weight behind it than before. He bends over to pick up his own water bottle (Argo definitely doesn’t steal a glance as he does this; he certainly is much better than that) and takes a drink. “And honestly? I had a blast.” A grin breaks across his face. “I wasn’t expecting to have as much fun as I did, but since I wasn’t so preoccupied with not messing up, I was able to just let myself have fun with it.”

Argo ignores the warm feeling he gets from seeing Fitzroy more excited about learning and enjoying this class. He was sure that after how bitter he was following their previous encounter, he would drop the class and it made him honestly really happy to see that was no longer the case. “I’m so glad you liked it.”

Fitzroy took another drink from his bottle and set it back down. “So, should we practice a bit more?” 

Argo is about to agree, but then he remembers that he promised his roommate that they would go grocery shopping right after class. “Ah, I wish I could but I have plans.”

The grin falls from Fitzroy’s face when he hears this. “Oh, um. Alright then.”

“But,” he quickly adds when he sees that line begin to form again between his brows, “we can still practice before next class! And I’ll make sure I don’t plan anything for after in case we need that extra time.”

The line disappears, and Fitzroy offers up a small smile. “Okay, that sounds good actually.”

It’s quiet while they both pull on their shoes and coats, and more than a little awkward, but when they’re both done, Argo says, “Adieu, Sir Fancy Lad.”

Fitzroy chuckles, looking at him amusedly as he wraps his scarf stylishly around his neck. “Goodbye, Argonaut Keene.” As he turns and leaves, he’s about to tell him that ‘Argo’ would do just fine, but he stops. 

He finds that he doesn’t mind it all that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this chapter of "nellie's dance class," the class where I teach you how to do a belgian mixer dance under the guise of creating tension between the two main characters in a fanfiction.
> 
> this fic is really just: *makes fitz go through the same things I did in this class* *makes fitz go through the same things I did in this class* *makes fitz go- (and I went through some pretty humiliating things in this class so get ready for that.)
> 
> also, I know that so far, this has been some pretty class-heavy stuff. I promise once it gets moving, there will be a lot more content outside of class, as well as more than just one class per episode. i just felt like for these first two, I needed to establish some stuff before we take off into more broad territory.
> 
> thanks so much for reading!! again, this is the first fiction writing I've done in a hot second so any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. anything to help me improve and make this fic more enjoyable moving forward.
> 
> you can also find me on Tumblr as [fitzkeene](fitzkeene.tumblr.com), so shoot me a message there if you have any questions, criticisms, or just wanna say hi!
> 
> the next chapter will probably take me a bit longer to write because I need to reacquaint myself with the next dance (east coast swing!) since I haven't done it since February dsdfjdfj.
> 
> that's all from me! be sure to stay safe, especially if you're participating in protests <3


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fitzroy's makes more mistakes. they always keep the tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i started writing this chapter I was 18 and when I finished it I was 19 which is so fucking weird to me.

If Argo is being honest, he’s a little offended.

He and Fitzroy had agreed at the end of last class that they would both be here early to practice ‘t smidje. The smaller instructor had just let him know that this would be the last day of class that they would start with it, and it honestly makes Argo frustrated that he and Fitzroy aren’t going to be able to practice it anymore.

And maybe just a little sad.

Several people are coming up to him and asking to practice, but he just turns them away, smiling politely and telling them that he’s waiting for a friend. But now the instructors are calling for them to grab a partner and get into the circle, and his friend is still nowhere in sight. He makes eye contact with a person standing near to him, and they give him a smile before walking over. They take Argo’s right hand, and he’s about to correct them and get on their other side when he realizes that since this isn’t Fitzroy, he doesn’t need to be on the outer circle. 

So he stands next to them, planted in the inner circle, trying to ignore how wrong it feels to be on the inside. When the music starts, he finds himself wanting to sway their connected hands like he did last week to form some comradery with his classmate, but that feels wrong too for some reason. Instead, he keeps his gaze forward and awaits the count of the instructors before beginning to dance.

His partner is very skilled, and they add a little bit of flourish to their moves, doing some extra footwork with the jumps and turns. The next partner is quite the opposite; they’re rigid, not even bothering to do the actual jumps, opting instead to just step in towards Argo and away. Their face is stone-cold throughout, and they don’t even respond when he tries to tell them to have a good day in an attempt to cheer them up. Then his third partner’s hand connects with his, and a voice blurts out a string of words so fast that it takes Argo a second to catch. 

“Argo, I got here late and they put me in the outer circle.”

He whips his head to the right to see Fitzroy, face red, eyes wide and nervous as they step forward for the first moves.

“Fitz! Why are you so late, I was waiting for you before class,” Argo chastises as they make the first turn and keep walking.

“I will apologize profusely later but I am currently in panic mode,” Fitroy whines, his movements much jerkier than last week’s. “Argo, the  _ turns _ .”

Argo desperately wants to point out that he didn’t correct him when he called him ‘Fitz,’ but based on his current mood, that probably wouldn’t go over well. “Hey,” and he makes eye contact with Fitzroy as they’re getting close to the jump-turn sequences. “I think you’re gonna be remarkable.” 

Something in Fitzroy shifts, and he looks slightly more determined. He steels himself, does the jumps flawlessly, just like in practice, goes into the turn, and--

He’s absolutely terrible.

What? You can’t expect one word of support from one’s friend of exactly five days to magically give one the ability to perform well under pressure, especially when Fitzroy has exhibited a distinct lack of grace in situations like this previously. 

He staggers, and his face turns an impossible shade of crimson. Overall, it isn’t a pretty sight. In fact, it’s actually kind of funny. It’s almost enough to make Argo burst out into a fit of laughter, but for Fitzroy’s sake, he resists to the best of his abilities. Instead, he giggles and squeezes his hand.

Part of Argo feels like maybe he should stop doing this, or at least try to stop doing it so often. He knows that holding hands can be very intimate for some people, that squeezing one’s hand can possibly be misconstrued as meaning something it doesn’t. But to him, squeezing someone’s hand means “I’ve got you.” When he was growing up, his mother had always squeezed his hand to reassure him, no matter the situation. Be it happy, sad, or fearful, whenever he felt that, he knew that on some level he was being supported. 

Looking at Fitzroy, Argo knows he needs that kind of support, and even though he fears that it might be sending a message that he doesn’t intend, it seems as though it’s working so far. As for reducing how often he does this, Fitzroy always seems to be on edge and in need of support, so that idea goes right out the window. 

At any rate, it seems to make Fitzroy feel a little bit better, despite the fact that the blush on his face is only getting darker and spreading down his neck, and he says, “well, that couldn’t have been any worse. The next time you see me, I will have crawled into a hole and died of shame.” He goes into the last turn (again, terribly) and moves onto the next partner. This time, Argo is much less successful in suppressing his laughter, watching fondly as Fitzroy apologizes in advance to his new partner.

Several minutes later, the song is over, and the instructors move to the center of the classroom so that all of the students can see them. 

“Today, we’ll be starting on the east coast swing! Unlike ‘t smidje, there are two distinct roles, leads and follows. You should know what your role is since you all registered under that specific class during the registration period. If you’re a follow, stand on the right side of the room; leads stand on the left.”

Argo stays where he’s standing on the right side, waiting patiently as the rest of the class shuffle about to their locations. He scans the room, and his eyes land on Fitzroy, looking uncertain on the left.

“These are the positions you will hold for the rest of the semester,” the larger instructor says. “If you think that you would prefer to be on the other side, please move over now and let us know your names after class so that we can adjust the rosters.” 

A couple people on either side swap places quickly, and Argo finds himself looking at Fitzroy again. He looks like he’s thinking about something, his eyes darting around before connecting with Argo’s. He’s conflicted for a few seconds before he calms (even from here, Argo can see that worry-line between his eyebrows; if he isn’t careful it’ll be permanent one day). Argo gives him a little smile and Fitzroy breaks the contact.

After a few more beats to make sure no one wants to make a last-minute swap, the instructors begin to speak again. “Okay, find a partner from the other side and form a circle so we can begin the basics of east coast swing.”

The volume of the classroom goes from zero to one hundred very quickly as people pair up and introduce themselves, talking about how nervous and excited they are to actually start. Argo sees some people in his peripheral vision beginning to make their way to him, but he already knows who his first partner is going to be and makes a beeline for him.

“So, got here late, did you?” He says to Fitzroy as he gets close enough for him to hear. Fitzroy sighs, crossing his arms and giving Argo a look that, on the surface, does not appear amused. He has a feeling that it’s all for show.

“Can we please never talk about that again? I would prefer to not be reminded of that whole debacle.” His thumb and forefinger pinch the bridge of his nose as the slightest pink dusting of that blush returns to his cheeks. The sight fills Argo with mirth.

“Fitz, it’s alright,” he chuckles. “I think that you did pretty damn good, considering! Plus, my ma always said that it’s important to get out of your comfort zone every once in a while.”

He removes his hand from his face. “Oh, goodness. It’s  _ Fitzroy.” _

“You didn’t seem to mind when I called you ‘Fitz’ earlier,” Argo smirks. Fitzroy decidedly ignores that.

“And I am  _ already _ outside of my comfort zone just by being here. In fact, I’m out of my comfort  _ state,  _ maybe even my comfort country. I am--” and he trails off as he realizes that the noise in the rest of the classroom is beginning to die down as introductions are completed and everyone is ready for the lesson.

Once the room is more or less silent, the larger instructor begins to speak again. “There are just a few things that we need to become familiar with before we begin the actual dancing. The first is closed position.” He and the smaller instructor turn so that they are both facing each other. “First, face your partner. Leads, take your right hand and place it on your follow’s back, just between their shoulder blades.”

Fitzroy does this, and for the first time, Argo realizes just how short he is compared to him. He knew from the second he saw Fitzroy that he was tall, but now that they’re standing face-to-face with his hand on his back, rather than side-by-side, he notes that he’s just about a head shorter, maybe less. Argo has to tilt his head up slightly to make eye contact.

“Follows, place your left hand on your lead’s shoulder, and both of you connect your remaining hands. Leads, this is your left; follows, this is your right.” They follow the instructions. Honestly, it’s a bit awkward. The way that their hands are folded together feels unnatural and cramped. 

“Now, believe it or not, there  _ is _ a correct way to connect your hands. You want to have your palms pressed together and your hands relaxed. If it looks like your hands froze mid-high five, you’re doing it wrong.” Says the larger instructor.

“On the flip side,” the smaller instructor continues, “you don’t want to be grabbing your partner’s hand. We call this being ‘crabby’ because it’s like a crab claw clamping down on your hand. We know it’s hard to point out something a peer is doing wrong if you don’t know them well, so if you notice your partner doing this, just say ‘no crabby,’ to let them know. Most of the time, you won’t even realize you’re doing this.” 

Argo and Fitzroy shift their hands to follow what the instructors are saying, and the effect is immediate. It feels much better and infinitely less awkward.

“Remember to keep a gentle tension, both of you pushing back against your partner’s palm.” The instructors demonstrate this in the center of the room. “Tension is going to be very, very important to us for the rest of the semester. Every class, make sure that you focus on keeping tension with your partner as the two of you move.”

Argo looks around and realizes that he and Fitzroy are the only two people who haven’t dropped out of closed position while the instructors were talking. He clears his throat, stepping back a little. Fitzroy steps back half a step too, his eyes deliberately on the instructors.

“In fact, we’re going to be doing a little exercise that will help you increase tension with your partner.”

Oh, boy.

“Leads, place your right hand on your follow’s back, just like before, and keep tension there. Follows, keep your back straight, and just lean back, almost like allowing yourself to go into a trust fall.” 

Fitzroy places his hand tenderly between his shoulder blades before firmly pressing his arm into him, and Argo allows himself to lean back as far as he is comfortable. To his surprise, Fitzroy seems to be holding him steady without very much effort on his part. He is, however, struggling to find a place to look during all of this. Finally, his eyes rest on Argo’s and they make eye contact as he becomes more and more comfortable, leaning back even farther as he realizes that he really, truly trusts Fitzroy.

The instructors tell them to return to standing and for the follows to do the same as the leads did. They keep eye contact the whole time as Argo feels Fitzroy hesitate to allow himself to trust rather than to be trusted, but eventually lean back with his whole weight. 

The instructor calls out. “Okay, good everybody! High five your partner, and leads rotate counter-clockwise to a new partner.” At that, Fitzroy stops leaning back, breaks the eye contact, and moves on wordlessly to the partner to their right.

Tension, indeed.

  
  


At the end of class, they practice the basic steps of the east coast swing together. When they take closed position, their hands come together perfectly on the first try.

  
  


\---

This time, it’s Fitzroy who is late to lunch with Rainer. She’s already sitting at their usual spot, her plate piled high with hummus and various hummus-compatible vegetables. 

“That’s an interesting lunch,” Fitzroy notes, sliding into a seat across the table. 

“First of all,” Rainer says, not looking up from her phone. “My new meds are making it literally impossible for me to eat anything else other than hummus. My blood is turning to chickpeas as we speak. Second of all,” and now she does look up, “you, sir, are late.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says, using his fork to swipe a dollop off the top of her mountain of hummus. He ignores her protests. “I got hung up practicing after social dance. We’re learning something--”

“Hello.”

Fitzroy startles at the voice that speaks up from the end of the table. The person standing there is massive, probably over six feet tall with broad shoulders, face relatively neutral. They don't say anything else to indicate why they’re there, but Rainer quickly smiles broadly at them.

“Oh, hey! Please, come sit! Fitzroy, I forgot to mention that I invited my friend from Accounting 101 to come to eat with us today. Is that okay?” 

After getting over the initial nervousness he had felt about this imposing figure, Fitzroy is determined to be polite to this new guest and says, “Of course, the more the merrier.”

Rainer smiles wider at that, two big dimples forming in her cheeks. “Great! His name is Firbolg. Firbolg, you can sit down next to Fitzroy.” He sits down, leaving a chair between the two of them (which Fitzroy is greatly appreciative of. He may want to be as polite as possible but he’s still a nervous person by nature). 

“Firbolg. That’s a very interesting name,” Fitzroy says, stabbing his fork into his lunch (for once, the stupid crepe machine that’s broken 90% of the time was working).

“Thank you. It is fake.”

Fitzroy looks to Rainer for an explanation, but she just shakes her head. 

“Okay…” 

All three of them begin eating, falling into a comfortable conversation. Firbolg surprisingly fits into their dynamic seamlessly, which Fitzroy was not expecting in the least. He contributes witty responses to their stupid goofs and valid points to their more meaningful topics.

“So then I told the professor that it was impossible for me to get to her class on time because the university campus is so wildly inaccessible that they have me jumping through hoops to get to a freshman-level course.”

“This is… a great shame.”   


“Damn right it is!”

After a while, Firbolg’s phone chimes, and he reads the notification, sighing deeply. “Please excuse me, I have to leave. My roommate needs me to pick up some groceries before I return to our home. I have online course that starts in an hour so I should go now.”

“Oh,” Rainer says, frowning a bit. “I’m sorry, Firbolg! We had a lot of fun eating with you though. Do you think you’ll join us again?”

“It would be a great honor.” He says, standing up and grabbing his plate. “It was very nice to meet you, Fitzroy. I will see you.” And with that, he’s walking away.

After a beat, Rainer looks back to Fitzroy. “So, how was social dancing today?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” he whines, covering his hands with his face, accidentally pushing his glasses up as he does. “I got there just a few minutes late and it ruined literally everything.”

He recounts the whole story, and she looks extremely amused at his misfortune, as usual. “It sounds so terrible but also so fucking hilarious.”

“It was!” He exclaims. “Terrible, I mean. Although, I did feel much better after I danced with Argo. It was still incredibly embarrassing but he lessened the blow.”

Rainer gets a knowing look on her face. “Oh, so that’s what happened.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” she smiles innocently, dipping a celery stick into her now-smaller mountain of hummus and crunching into it. “Nothing at all.”

\---

When Argo comes into class on Thursday, he does not expect to see Fitzroy here so early, especially given Tuesday’s fiasco. He doubly does not expect him to be practicing the basic steps they learned last class, holding his arms up like there’s an invisible partner there. 

Argo stops several feet away when he sees this. As amusing as it is to watch Fitzroy try (and fail) to execute the steps on his own, he also feels a bit of pride. This time last week, he was teaching him how to do ‘t smidje properly, having just reconciled whatever minute-long rivalry Fitzroy saw between them, and now here he was, practicing on his own, in his own time. He feels incredibly proud of how much more confidence his new friend has been able to cultivate over the last week, even if he still has a long way to go.

He also feels something that he can’t quite put his finger on, something inexplicable.

He shakes it off, approaching Fitzroy and “tapping” his invisible partner on the shoulder. “Excuse me, invisible man, may I cut in? My friend and I are in desperate need of practice.”

Fitzroy laughs at that, high and loud, and Argo feels his smile involuntarily get bigger.

They take closed position. Their hands connect, and they push against the other’s palms lightly, keeping the tension. Always keeping the tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter it was hand squeezing, this chapter it's eye contact. i am Living for it.
> 
> also yes. i am projecting my frustrations with my current diet restrictions onto rainer. although it's significantly better now, for two whole weeks i literally could eat nothing but fucking hummus and veggies. dark, dark times
> 
> I realize that I find myself switching to fitzroy's perspective during the actual dancing bc I was a lead (me and my friend were actually the only women leads in the class) and therefore I have No Idea what the dances are like from the follows perspective. that's part of the reason I had the 't smidje and tension exercises be from argo's perspective this time bc those will be Few and Far Between.
> 
> also i didn't bring this up before bc i was waiting to introduce the firbolg but I personally don't write dialogue phonetically. that is to say, if a character has an accent (like argo and firby), i don't write the words as they sound in the accent. this is purely for dyslexia reasons as it is very hard for me to write it out like that consistently.
> 
> thanks so much for reading this chapter!! i welcome and encourage and constructive criticism y'all might have for me so i would live some of that if you have any!
> 
> that's all from me!! thank you again and stay safe <3


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzroy gains a bit of confidence and gets slapped with a bit of the truth. Some long lost friends return from the war. Argo gets along swimmingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello everyone. I am emerging on the other side of a depressive episode. Victorious? Debatable. But with a lot of new-found creative energy?? You betcha!

“Okay, so show me what you’ve got so far.”

Fitzroy’s head is still reeling from his econ class that morning, so having to rack his brain for moves that he learned last week is less than ideal, especially since he hasn’t had time (or let’s be real, energy) to practice outside the ten-minute mini-sessions he has with Argo before class.

He made an extra effort to get to sleep early last night, especially after the shitstorm that resulted from his being late last time.

He hadn’t meant to sleep in that morning, but he’d gone to bed at a truly ungodly hour due to his mind not giving him a second’s break from worrying: worrying about his classes, homework, internships… and if he was also nervous because he knew that the next day he would be meeting with Argo again, that just added onto his already towering mountain of worry. He sometimes found himself in that situation, where having plans to meet up with a friend would make him anxious to no end. For what reason, he didn’t know, but now that Argo was a  _ friend _ , technically, and now that they had plans to meet up ten minutes before class twice a week, Fitzroy was feeling very overwhelmed. So he didn’t fall asleep until five, slept through all of his alarms and his econ class, bolting across campus to the building where dance takes place.

So today he is here, on time and as well-rested as a college student can be, and still very awkward with the east coast swing. 

Fitzroy moves close to Argo, taking him in closed position. “Alright. From closed position, we go into basic.” He steps forward with his left foot, then steps again with his right foot where it was when they took position. He then puts his left foot behind him, rocking back onto it, before coming back down onto his right foot once more.

“Good,” Argo says, and they go through a few more before Fitzroy starts to get off rhythm with the music, mixing his feet up. Argo notices and starts the chant the instructors plowed into their heads on the first day of swing. “Step, step, rock, step. Hey, stop looking at your feet, make eye contact.” He stares at Argo, who looks back at him intently, all the while continuing the chant. It makes Fitzroy a lot more comfortable with the rhythm, and the fact that he can do it without continuously staring at where he’s placing his feet makes for some great improvement from last time.

“Argo, I’m going to do one more basic and then I’ll send you into a turn.” Argo nods, and as Fitzroy goes into the rock step of the basic, he lifts his left hand slightly to begin to make an arch for Argo to go into an inside turn. 

He goes into the turn, which he executes perfectly, before saying “Fitz, you know you have to keep moving your feet when I turn?”

“Oh, really? I wasn’t aware of that,” he jokes, smiling at his mistake. They do it again, and this time he manages to keep his feet moving at the right tempo and bring Argo back into closed position. Although it might help that he’s saying “step, step, rock, step” to himself under his breath the whole time.

They practice turning a few more times, and finally, he’s able to do the whole sequence without chanting out loud. He leads Argo into another turn, but this time when he comes back in, he catches his other hand, holding it loosely as they go into the move he thinks was called “butterfly.”

“Woah!” Argo laughs, falling into the move effortlessly. Because of course, he doesn’t even hesitate. Fitzroy can’t tell if he’s annoyed at how excessively good he is or impressed. “You went into a move and didn’t have to tell me first! That’s really good, Fitzroy.”

“Yes, well,” And Fitzroy looks away, trying to mask his pride. “Everybody else probably got to that point last week.” 

“Not necessarily,” Argo shrugs (as much as he can while dancing), and Fitzroy raises his arm again to form the arch. Argo goes through perfectly, coming back into closed position as they do the basic steps a few more times. “A lot of these people just expect the follows to know what they wanna do next without actually letting us know with their bodies. Like you just did, forming the arch a whole turn before you wanted me to go. And a lot of these leads keep forgetting that the follows are beginners, too. They still need the movements early on so that we know what to do.”

“Then why are you so perfect at all of this?” Fitzroy sends Argo into another turn.

Argo chuckles a bit, but when Fitzroy can see his face again as he comes back toward him, his expression is bittersweet, like he’s thinking about a wistful memory.

“I used to travel a lot with my ma. You pick stuff up that way.”

Fitzroy suddenly wants to stop, to ask Argo about his mother, what she’s like, but looking at his face now, he decides to leave it for another time.

“Anyways, the fact that you’re able to signal to me with your body without having to make exaggerated movements means that you’ve really improved, Fitz.” The bittersweet is gone from his voice. Whether it was shoved down or went away organically, Fitzroy couldn’t say. But Argo is looking at him with genuine pride now, and Fitzroy can’t help but feel satisfaction swell in his chest, his heart thumping to the beat of the music.

After running through the basic, inside turn, and butterfly a few more times, the instructors call the attention of the class to the center.

“Let’s do a bit of review from the last class before we go into the next lesson. Find a partner and circle up!”

Argo and Fitzroy naturally partner up, and they run through the review seamlessly. Fitzroy fights down a smile; last week, they were having so much trouble, but now he’s able to actually keep up with the rest of the class.

Last week, when the leads and follows were separated, Fitzroy had seriously considered switching to the follows’ side. Clearly, he wasn’t prepared at all for the kind of leadership necessary to be an actual  _ lead. _ In most other areas, he would jump to fill the leadership role, but here, he couldn’t use his charms to compensate for any shortcomings he might stumble upon along the way. Here, leads had to be skilled the whole time through, no faking it.

But seeing Argo in the follows’ section, he couldn’t bring himself to switch. That turned out to be the right decision; even though he still struggles a lot with the moves, he’s improving marginally every time he practices.

“Okay, looks like everyone is doing really well with the basic moves!” The smaller instructor claps. “Today we’re going to be learning a new move called ‘Double Face Loop.’” The two instructors take closed position and begin to do a few basic steps, going into a turn, then into butterfly. However, instead of another turn, the instructors raise their arms above their heads, hands still connected, and their arms loop impossibly. One arm lets go, falling freely behind them stylishly, but the other arm grabs their partner’s hand. 

The class begins to buzz, although its hard to tell if it’s excitedly or nervously. Fitzroy’s eyes are wide, and he has no clue how he’s going to learn something that looks like a surprisingly elegant pretzel. Argo must notice him growing tenser by the second because he takes his hand briefly, squeezing it reassuringly before letting it fall back to his side. For some reason, that makes his heart pound even faster.

“It’s not as hard as it looks,” the larger instructor takes his partners’ hands in his for butterfly, starting the move from the beginning but at a fraction of the speed from before. “As you go into the rock step in butterfly, you turn your torso slightly so that your right shoulder is pointing towards your partner. As you slowly continue to keep your feet moving to the basic steps, you lift both arms over your heads.”

“As you start to bring your hands back down, move your right arms so that it is over your partner’s right shoulder. This will be on the left side of your perspective. As soon as your hands reach the height of your head, let go. Let your left arm fall back down to your side, but allow your right arm to trail down your partner’s as you rock back until your hands connect again!”

The instructors are met with silence as the rest of the class stares at them blankly. “It’s okay if you’re a little lost, “ the smaller instructor chuckles, giving everyone a warm smile. “We’ll run through it a few times step-by-step at half speed before we implement it into a sequence. Let’s start!”

Argo turns to face Fitzroy and takes his hands. They run through the move with the instructors’ prompting, and to his surprise, it actually isn’t as difficult as it looks. His hand trails down Argo’s arm and catches his free hand naturally. Argo adds a little flourish, throwing his other hand back like he’s in a movie. Before he can stop himself, Fitzroy lets out a laugh, an actual, genuine laugh. He looks around to see if he disrupted anyone around them, slightly embarrassed by how loud he was, but looking back at the smile on Argo’s face, the same cheek-splitting grin that painted his face on the first day, he begins to feel less self-conscious.

They go through it again step-by-step, then sandwich it between some other moves so they can get the feel of it organically.

“Okay, high-five and rotate!”

“Good job, Fitz!” Argo smiles, high-fiving him enthusiastically. “You nailed that move fairly quickly!”

“I know, right?” he says, turning his nose up and smiling arrogantly before walking towards his next partner. Then he turns back to Argo, who has his eyebrows raised amusedly, before giving him an actual smile. “I’m joking. Thank you, Argo.”

Fitzroy makes his way around the circle, making small talk with his various partners. Unlike the last few weeks, he feels a lot more comfortable with his peers and less stressed about the tiny mistakes. The instructors address this exact subject during the half-time break.

He and Argo sit next to each other on the studio floor, gulping down water with what little time they have to rest before class starts up again. The whole class sits in a half-moon shape while the instructors stand next to the whiteboard, talking about possible outings that they’re offering to count towards one of their assignments, the due dates for song submissions, and a reminder to come to dance lab, this class’ version of office hours, on Friday.

“Now that we’ve gotten all reminders aside,” the smaller instructor (Fitzroy should really have learned their names by now. Are they even written on the syllabus?) says, pushing the whiteboard back so that he has more room to speak. “We’ve noticed that a lot of you have gotten a lot more comfortable with your classmates, and by extension, a lot more forgiving of your mistakes.”

“As we told you at the end of the first class, a lot of you probably came into this class with the mindset that you cannot dance. Not that you don’t know how, but that you don’t have the ability to. Like we told you then, this is a mindset that unfortunately most people have, but a mindset that is easy to break out of if you put in the work.”

Fitzroy definitely doesn’t remember that lecture. Probably due to the fact that he was still steaming mad at Argo at that point.

“There is another mindset that most of you have, but it’s a bit harder to break out of. You see, something that your generation really struggles with is wanting to do everything perfectly all the time. You feel like if you make a mistake, you’re a failure. How many of you feel like this?”

Almost the whole class raises their hands.

“And what if a friend came up to you and told you that they made a mistake? How many of you would call them a failure?”

No hands go up.

“Maybe you fail a test. You beat yourself up about it, feel like you’re useless, doubt all of your abilities. But if a friend comes up to you and tells you that they failed a test, you are understanding, telling them that grades don’t define them. You hold yourself to a much higher standard than you hold the rest of the world.”

Fitzroy feels Argo looking at him from the corner of his eye and turns his face to make eye contact. He’s raising his eyebrows like he’s saying ‘ _ you know he’s right!’  _ Fitzroy deadpans, and Argo shrugs, turning back to look at the instructors.

“You all do the same thing with dancing. The first day, we noticed a lot of you saying stuff like ‘I’m so sorry,’ or ‘I’m really bad at this.’ Today, we saw that you were instead saying ‘I’m having a lot of trouble with this one,’ and were met with replies like ‘I am, too. We’ll get the hang of it,’ or ‘let’s work through this together.’”

“It is difficult to let go of those unrealistic expectations for yourself, but without even realizing it, a lot of you are on your way there.” The larger instructor smiles. “That’s what’s so beautiful about social dance; as you practice, you get more confident not just in your abilities, but in yourself. It’s our sincere hope for all of you that by the end of this semester, you will be more accepting and less self-critical. But enough of all this. Circle back up and we’ll run through a few songs!”

Argo stands up quickly, offering his hand to Fitzroy, who accepts it. Once he’s back up to full height, Argo smiles at him. “You know, they’re both right.”

“What, that I’ve gotten more confident over the last few weeks? Because I’ve always been very confident in myself in all other areas of my life, thank you very much,” Fitzroy lies.

Argo shakes his head, closing his eyes as he does, and when he opens them there’s a sincerity there that almost shocks him. “No. That you need to be less critical. You have to let yourself make mistakes, Fitzroy.”

The way that he says it is so calm, but Fitzroy feels like he’s just been punched in the gut. As hard as he tries to put up a confident facade, he knows that some people see through it like glass. Rainer, as well as his other close friends, knows when he is genuinely self-assured and equanimous and when he’s putting up walls to keep others from seeing how much he tears himself down inside. The fact that Argonaut Keene, a man he’s only seen maybe five times in the last month, can see through all of his barriers like they aren’t even there, scares him to no end. 

But a part of him feels almost happy to be seen. To be reassured. 

He opens his mouth to respond but finds that his words have almost completely escaped him. Instead, he clears his throat.

“Let’s get back into the circle. We’re going to start soon.”

\---

  
  


Firbolg has been joining them for lunch almost every day since last week, and Fitzroy is honestly very pleased with the new addition to their group. He’s actually very insightful on a lot of topics, many of which go over Fitzroy’s head, but it’s still fun to watch when he and Rainer establish a back and forth.

Now, he’s the one who is engaged in deep conversation with him. So deep, in fact, that he doesn’t see when Rainer’s face lights up as she sees someone walking up behind him, and he’s taken completely by surprise when a pair of hands snatch away his glasses and cover his eyes.

“Guess who’s back!”

Fitzroy’s face breaks out into a grin as he rips the hands off and whips around to face them. “Buckminster, Leon, you guys are back!” Buckminster stands directly behind him, Leon at his side, and he gets up to hug them. “I was beginning to think you guys had forgotten about us.” After he hugs them, the two go around to the other side of the table to hug Rainer.

“I do not understand,” Firbolg says after a pause. “Who are these people?”

“Oh, right!” Rainer exclaims. “You haven’t met yet! Buck, Leon, this is Firbolg. Firbolg, these are our friends who went for an internship abroad in New Zealand over winter break.”

“They decided to stay there until the day before classes started, but there were huge storms where they were catching their connecting flight in Hong Kong so they got stranded there. For the entire first week of classes.” Fitzroy looks at them, his tone bemused but his expression teasing.   


“Listen, if you could see New Zealand, you would want to stay there until the last possible second, too.” Buckminster laughs, “It’s summer there right now! You know I hate the cold.”

“Anyways,” Leon pipes in, “We wanted to come to see you guys sooner, but we had to square some stuff away with our landlord and then we had to beg our professors for forgiveness and catch up on all the work we missed.” 

“That’s alright! I’m just so glad you guys are here now.” Rainer smiles, hugging Buckminster again. “Now you guys go get some food! You have to tell us all about your trip.”

After an hour of stories and questions, Buckminster and Fitzroy volunteer to take all of the plates to the dirty bins. They’re both juggling various sizes of plates and cups, and Fitzroy realizes how glad he is that it isn’t just him and Rainer at lunch anymore.

“Hey, Fitz,” Buckminster says after he sets the plates down. “Do you want to go to the gym on Thursday? I have some stuff to do tomorrow after class but I really wanna get back into our routine!”

“Definitely!” Fitzroy smiles widely. When he first came to this university, he was intimidated by how massive the gym was. The one he used to go to in his hometown was so small, you could fit five of them in the weight room of this one alone. He was already friends with Rainer from orientation, and she said that Buck, a friend from her high school that graduated a year earlier than her, was very familiar with this gym and would show him around. After that, the four of them got very close and would hang out almost every day. Even though he hasn’t been to the gym yet this semester, he’s very excited to spend some time with him and get back to it. 

“Great! I’ll text you a time.”   


“Hey!” Rainer calls impatiently. “What’s taking you two so long? We’re literally dying over here.”

“This is not true. I do not feel any different.”

Buckminster laughs loudly, enough to get the attention of the people around them. “I’m really liking this Firbolg guy.”

\---

When they get to the gym, it’s practically empty, suggesting that most people have already given up on their various gym-centric New Year’s resolutions. Fitzroy hasn’t been here since before finals last semester, but everything is just like he remembers it.

“Okay, so let’s hit the locker room, get changed, and then do cardio.” Buckminster walks ahead of him a bit. “Or do you wanna do weights today?”

“We can do a little of both,” Fitzroy shrugs, “to get us acclimated again.”

After they change, they both put their stuff into a locker, and Fitzroy tucks the key into the pocket of his shorts. They start to turn the corner out of the locker room, but as they do, he runs into someone, and they’re soaking wet.

“Sorry, I didn’t-- oh! Hey, Fitzroy!"

Argo’s standing in front of him, hair pulled in a tight bun, wet from head to toe. And also very, very shirtless. 

Fitzroy will freely admit that he thinks Argo is very attractive. Okay, maybe not to his face, but certainly to others. He’s noticed this about Argo several times, like the first day of class before he went berserk, or when he’s breathless and covered in sweat from the effort of class. In fact, he’s been pressed up flush against him, doing those ‘tension exercises’ that the instructors are so keen on doing every single class. 

However seeing him breathless  _ and _ shirtless, combined with the bright smile he’s giving him, because he always has to be so wonderfully genuine all the freaking time, does something to Fitzroy that he would not admit to anyone.

He stares for just a second too long before he realizes that he has to respond. “Argo,” he smiles, hoping his face isn’t getting too red. “What are you doing here?”

“Swimming laps,” He grins, holding up his goggles. “I just swam about two hundred. I try to come here as often as I can and I had some time.”   


“Woah, what’s your stroke?” Buckminster asks, and Argo looks like he’s only just now realizing that someone else is there. 

“Freestyle. I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Argo.” And he holds out a damp hand. Buckminster shakes it all the same, giving Argo his name and asking how he knows Fitzroy. “Oh, we’re in the same social dance class. We practice together before and after class. Speaking of,” he turns to Fitzroy, who was definitely not distracted again because  _ Really? Two hundred laps? _ “Are you planning on going to dance lab tomorrow? I think I heard we’re starting a different kind of swing on Tuesday and I think we should try to nail that move we learned today.”

“The 'behind the back hand change?'” Fitzroy struggled with that move a lot during lessons, mostly because he kept messing up the footing. “Yeah, we should definitely work on that. I’ll be there.”

Argo grins even wider, clapping him on the shoulder a few times. His bare shoulder. “Great! I’ll see you then. It was nice meeting you, Buckminster!” And just as fast as he appeared, he’s gone.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Buckminster gives him a look suspiciously similar to the one that Rainer is very fond of.

“What?” He snaps, crossing his arms, and trying not to look defensive.

“Nothing, nothing,” Buckminster smirks, walking out past the threshold of the locker room. “He just seems nice.”

“Well, he is. He’s been helping me keep up with the rest of the class.” Fitzroy uncrosses his arms and catches up with Buck, whose smirk just keeps getting bigger.

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure he’s a  _ great  _ mentor.” When Fitzroy punches him in the arm, his cackles ring throughout the lobby. “Okay, wait. I think you should cool it on strength training. That fucking hurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say: im sorry for writing the first three chapters of this bad boy within a week of each other and then disappearing for over a month asdfj i had a shit ton of family obligations and then on top of that i got super depressed and anxious and blah. But now the family obligations are gone! The depression? Hmm we’ll see.
> 
> Here are some resources! These are all the reference videos i used for the dance moves. (side note, thank god for the library of dance, i otherwise would have forgotten literally everything I know about east coast swing.)
> 
> obviously I'm just providing these in case what I'm writing is confusing (i try for it not to be, but you never know) or if you want a visual aid. y’all might find them helpful!
> 
> [basic,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACQY_RR0-bI&list=PLBP2Ersubpy_XBV45l8tFqf1Zu7iNCuKG&index=1) [outside and inside turns,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18biDD23HhQ&list=PLBP2Ersubpy_XBV45l8tFqf1Zu7iNCuKG&index=3) [butterfly,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wkcz0kg528g&list=PLBP2Ersubpy_XBV45l8tFqf1Zu7iNCuKG&index=9) and [double face!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqSXIe1C9L8&list=PLBP2Ersubpy_XBV45l8tFqf1Zu7iNCuKG&index=10)
> 
> As always, thank you so so much for reading! It means so much to me that people actually read this and like it (its mind-boggling that ANYONE is reading my writing, much less actually giving me feedback). If you have any constructive criticism, please let me know! Anything y’all have to say that helps me as a writer is always welcome.
> 
> If you’re going to protests, please stay safe!! If you ever feel like the situation is escalating and that you might need to get out for your safety, do not hesitate! I had to do that at my local protest and thankfully nothing happened after I left but you never know. And for the love of god, WEAR A MASK.


End file.
